


When the Land was Godless and Free

by versti_fantur



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - End Of The World, Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Character Death, but its not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23331616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/versti_fantur/pseuds/versti_fantur
Summary: When the world is fading away all around them, they seek refuge in each other. But is it already too late?
Relationships: Glanni Glæpur/Íþróttaálfurinn
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	When the Land was Godless and Free

**Author's Note:**

> Welp I was sad and listened to Hozier and this happened. Hope you enjoy!

Some said the end of the world would be fast – a nuclear bomb, a meteor strike, whatever. Others said it would be slow – the gradual poisoning of the environment until it all eventually died. Of course, there were some that said it would be aliens, or zombies, but no one really believed them.

That’s what made it so strange, how nobody had ever imagined it would happen like this; everything fracturing, blurring, disintegrating into dust. But gradually, so no one really noticed until it was too late. Some called it a plague, others a punishment. Who knows who was right?

First it was small; the odd tree, or shed, or fence here and there, but then buildings, mountains, large things began to vanish too. Still, no one paid much attention, insisting everything was fine. Then colours started to fade, where vibrant greens and blues once were, only a lingering grey remained. No one cared, they pretended nothing was wrong. But then people started to vanish, and they couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Glanni couldn’t remember what pink looked like, even though it had been his favourite colour for years. He still used makeup but it wasn’t the same when it would only make his face a slightly different shade of grey. Crime had lost its appeal once everyone started doing it, and by the time they’d stopped there was hardly anyone left to do crimes to. So most of his time was spent curled up in whichever safe house hadn’t disappeared yet, drinking and sleeping, waiting to die. Honestly there wasn’t much else to do.

Íþróttaálfurinn hadn’t stopped moving in three days. Ever since the cracks began to appear, he focused solely on helping people, ensuring they were safe, comfortable, even _happy_ in their last moments. But then three days ago, Solla had found the fractures growing down her arm and Íþró almost hadn’t been able to cope. 

He should’ve been used to it, after all he’d witnessed countless people fade to dust, but this was _Solla_. It had been bad enough when Nenni, Goggi, and the Mayor all passed in quick succession, but at least they’d had families to be with them. The others, too, had been painful, but Solla had no parents. She’d watched all her friends die. She was the last one. He was supposed to protect her. He’d failed.

Watching the pale grey sunset that night, Íþró wept.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Several days later, on his weekly adventure to find food and alcohol, Glanni watched as a familiar balloon flew overhead, landing just inside what was left of the city. He laughed grimly to himself, it was hardly safe to fly that damned thing, knowing it could disintegrate without much warning. Maybe it was a desire to taunt the elf, or maybe he just wanted to talk to another person for the first time in two months, but Glanni set off in the direction of the balloon, wondering what the hell to actually say to the man who had previously chased him out of town.

Íþró noticed a blurriness about a nearby church as he set down the balloon, but ignored it. At least it wasn’t a person. He didn’t have to think about saving it. Not that he could. He slumped against the wall of the basket and closed his eyes tiredly, when he heard the faint sounds of footsteps on the grass. A face he recognised from long ago stared back at him as he peered over the edge of the basket, a rueful smile ghosting over the other man’s lips.

“Íþróttaálfurinn,”

“Glæpur,”

Glanni stopped a few metres from the balloon, a bottle of wine he’d found was clutched in his left hand. When he received no other response from Íþró, he hesitantly took another step forward.

Íþró got to his feet as Glanni reached the basket, cautiously meeting his eyes. They were still grey, just as they had been before, but Íþró realised they must have been flecked with colour, as they seemed duller. Or maybe this whole ordeal had taken its toll and worn him down. Something twinged in his chest; the idea that the world had broken Glæpur’s spirit was, inexplicably, a painful one.

“It’s been a while,” Glanni’s voice was rough from disuse as he accepted Íþró’s offered hand to climb into the basket, the sensation of actual skin against his own sent shivers down his spine. He hadn’t realised quite how alone he’d been these past months. Íþró gave him a weak laugh and nodded at his words.

“Truce?” Íþró still looked exactly the same as he had all those years ago, the only indication of the suffering he’d seen were the tired lines that cut deep into his forehead and around his eyes.

“Yeah.” Glanni found he didn’t want to let go of Íþró’s hand. _Fuck it,_ he thought, _it’s literally the end of the world, I don’t have to let go._ So he didn’t.

They didn’t speak. There wasn’t much to talk about anyway. They leant against the sturdy wall of the basket and watched the world fade away. The church disintegrated before their eyes, Íþró pretending not to notice as Glanni gripped his hand tighter. No birds flew overhead.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t think we’re living anymore. Just existing.” Glanni broke the silence after several hours, turning to look directly at Íþró, who nodded in silent agreement. He hadn’t really thought about it before then, but he supposed Glanni’s words had truth to them. He couldn’t remember the last time he was happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“I thought you’d be staying with the kids in Latibær,” Glanni spoke again, not long after, “Or some other town.” Íþró’s face fell, and Glanni frowned in realisation. “Shit, I’m sorry..”

“No, it’s fine,” Íþró shook his head, but pulled his hand back from Glanni’s, rubbing the back of his neck, before an angry expression Glanni had never seen before settled over his features.

“You know what? It’s not _fine_. Nothing about this whole situation is _fine_.” His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and his breathing became harsher. Glanni sat awkwardly, unsure how to comfort him, before reaching up to gently squeeze his shoulder. They remained in silence for a few minutes, Íþró’s rage ebbing away.

“I just miss them,” Íþró mumbled, and Glanni pulled him into a hug, suspecting that Íþró needed it just as much as he did, if not more. Thankfully, Íþró didn’t immediately pull away, instead burying his face into the crook of Glanni’s neck. His hat danged in front of Glanni’s eyes, its crystal shattered within its casing. Glanni didn’t know much about elves, but their crystals were connected to them spiritually. So for it to be so utterly destroyed…

Glanni looked down at the man in his arms, and found himself unable to speak. Nothing he could say or do would make anything better. The world would still be dying, and Íþró would still be broken. His heart heavy, he pulled Íþró closer.

~~~~~~~~~~~

That evening, Íþró laid out a blanket on the grass next to the balloon, and Glanni stretched out on it, his joints cracking loudly. Íþró sat down next to him, the air crisp and cool against his bare arms. Glanni unscrewed the cap of the wine bottle, taking a long swig before offering Íþró the bottle. He half expected a Íþró to lecture him about the dangers of alcohol, or at least push it away, but he took it, pausing a moment before raising it to his lips, drinking slowly.

His eyes languidly dancing between the monochrome sunset and Íþróttaálfurinn, Glanni felt a flicker of something in his chest; an emotion that, for the first time in a long while, wasn’t negative. He should’ve crushed it, but he couldn’t bring himself to, so he tucked his hands behind his head and shut his eyes. If he concentrated hard, maybe he could imagine everything was back the way it was. Even if Íþró back then wouldn’t have paid him any notice, not like this.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Íþró woke the next day with Glanni in his arms, still lying on the blanket on the grass. The sun illuminated Glanni’s face, the glitter of his eyeshadow glinting, and a soft smile on his lips. There was that flippy feeling again in Íþró’s stomach again, and he inhaled sharply as he realised what it was.

Glanni’s eyes opened blearily at the sound and found himself staring directly into Íþró’s own eyes. _They used to be blue_ , he remembered. But then Íþró was leaning forward, and their lips met, warmth flooding through Glanni’s veins. Íþró reached up to cup his face and Glanni pulled away, fighting down the choked sob that threatened to escape. Íþró’s expression of hurt and confusion didn’t help with that.

“I can’t, I-” he sat up, tugging his sleeve up to his elbow, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Twisted black fractures threaded their way over his pale skin, and the tips of his fingers had a faint blur to them, as though they were seen through a smeared lens. It was barely noticeable, but it was _there_ , and Íþró crumpled as though he’d been punched in the gut.

“I’m sorry.” Glanni whispered, reaching to stroke Íþró’s hair with his other hand.

Next to them, the balloon collapsed into a pile of dust as Íþró shook with silent tears, inconsolable and riddled with guilt, because,

‘ _Why is it never me?_ ’

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos give me life <3  
> Title from Foreigner's God by Hozier


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